


Auld Lang Syne, My Dear

by magicbubblepipe



Series: A Series of Firsts [6]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Connor, Boys Kissing, Christmas, Emotional Sex, First Christmas, First Time, Get Together, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, Porn with Feelings, RST, Top Hank Anderson, Touch-Starved, UST, and then
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 02:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/pseuds/magicbubblepipe
Summary: Connor and Hank have been dancing around each other, ignoring the undeniablesomethingbetween them, and Connor has had enough. A certain New Year's Eve tradition inspires him to finally make his feelings known.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work directly follows A Little Tinsel and Some Mistletoe but can stand alone if it must. The 'it' mentioned in the first sentence is a reference to a tipsy mistletoe kiss, and a subsequent denial of feelings.

They didn’t talk about it. But in Hank’s defense, it was Christmas Eve and he didn’t want to make it awkward. Connor was acting normally again, if a tad more jumpy than usual, in regards to Hank’s touch. He made a mental note to try and keep his hands to himself, lest he upset Connor enough to make him leave.

And that’s what it’s all been about, hasn’t it? Hank being scared of fucking this up, driving Connor right out of his life with his self-destructive bullshit and unwanted advances. So, he locked up his feelings and they had a somewhat functional Christmas; it wasn’t anything to write home about, but Connor seemed satisfied. 

Though, it was particularly difficult not to kiss Connor full on the mouth when Hank unwrapped his gift and found the single most hideous shirt he’d ever seen in his life. It was so beautiful he was nearly moved to tears, and he just sat there, staring at the pattern, which he could only describe as ‘witch vomit’. 

Connor was watching him expectantly, LED blinking his uncertainty. He was probably taking Hank’s silence as a bad sign, so Hank mustered up some words that weren’t the sappy endearments his stupid heart wanted to say. 

“Connor,” Hank’s voice was a little breathier than he’d like, “ you couldn’t have gotten me a better gift. This is one of--no it is. It is now my favorite shirt.” 

Connor’s face lit up like the fucking sun, a broad smile dimpling his freckled cheeks. Hank’s heart tripped over itself and he had to look away before he said something regrettable. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Connor said. 

“I love it. Thank you, Con.”

Connor flushed at the praise, seemingly unable to keep the smile off his face. He ducked his eyes in that sweet way of his, his hands caressing the fabric of his brand new DPD hoodie. Connor had seemed genuinely surprised to receive a gift from Hank, despite the nature of the holiday. Hank supposed that suddenly being treated like a person had a certain amount of novelty to it that hadn’t yet worn off. 

After the gift exchange, Hank settled onto the couch to watch the game, presuming Connor would soon be joining him, but the android had another surprise up his sleeve. He walked past Hank and into the kitchen; Hank watched as Connor went to the fridge and pulled out a large tinfoil covered pan that Hank hadn’t seen in there yesterday. 

Curiosity got the better of him and he called out, “Whatcha making?”

Connor tossed a little smile over his shoulder as he unwrapped the foil, revealing a small and exquisitely brined butterball turkey. “I know that Christmas traditions vary from family to family, but turkey seems to be the most prevalent choice.” 

“Holy shit,” Hank exclaimed with a short laugh, “When’d you get around to doing all that?” 

Connor continued to work as he spoke, sliding the turkey into the preheated oven. “The turkey’s been brining overnight in sea salt and herbs. I started it yesterday when you fell asleep on the couch.” 

Hank shook his head, “You’re so much better at this Christmas thing than me, and that’s kind of hilarious.”

Connor cocked his head to the side in that endearing way of his, “I didn’t know Christmas was a skill.” 

“It’s a competition and you’re winning,” Hank replied, lifting his coffee mug in mock salute.

Hank could still see the smile that Connor was trying to hide, could see the faintest hint of pink coloring his ears. He may be restraining himself from touching Connor but it’ll be a cold day in hell before he stops praising him- the reactions were just too good to resist.

Turns out, Connor could make even turkey taste good; which was a relief because Hank had never liked it before. It was a shame that Connor couldn’t enjoy any of it himself, but he seemed pleased enough that Hank did. 

After Christmas, they got back to work together at the precinct, just in time for a complicated double homicide case to roll in. It completely monopolized their lives until reaching a quick and messy end just before New Years. Connor was obsessive, forgoing rest for days on end, against Hank’s wishes, of course. Like a bloodhound, he was unwilling to give up the scent of his mark until he brought it down. 

And bring it down he did. He saved Hank’s life (again) and took a bullet to the left shoulder for his trouble. After they had the criminal restrained, Hank rushed Connor back to the precinct to tend to his wound. There was an android emergency repair kit, which Hank ran to fetch, though Connor insisted he was fine. 

They locked themselves in a bathroom, Connor taking a seat on the counter.

“I don’t care if you turned off your pain sensors, Connor, you were still fucking shot.” Hank was almost yelling now. Connor wisely closed his mouth and let Hank vent. 

He fumbled around with the repair kit for a good minute before he realized he had no fucking idea what he was looking for. He didn’t even know how to fix Connor, and that was scary in and of itself. What could have happened if Connor was unconscious? Would Hank be forced to bring him all the way to Jericho? 

Connor reached out and stayed Hank’s shaking hands, gently extricating the kit from his fingers. Hank couldn’t meet his gaze, not with his own eyes burning with the threat of tears. He watched the effortless grace with which Connor found the materials he needed, easily pulling the bullet out of his shoulder with a pair of long-nose tweezers. Hank grimaced at the slick blue blood that dripped from the slug and trickled freely from the wound. 

He used a small pen-like device that Hank soon realized was a similar to a soldering iron. Feeling a little sick, he watched as Connor brought it up to the hole in his plasteel chassis, clicking it on with a buzz like a tattoo gun. It didn’t take long for it to heat up, the end glowing red. The shiny white material of Connor’s body seemed to slowly liquify, filling in the empty space and stopping the flow of blood. 

Connor put away the tool and pulled out a sachet of Thirium. He tore the corner with his teeth in a way that sent a weird little thrill through Hank’s gut, probably a pavlovian response he had because of condom wrappers. He shoved that thought away; now was definitely not the time. Connor drank the contents of the bag and announced that his system was stabilized. 

Breathless, Hank’s eyes fixed onto the pale skin beneath Connor’s open shirt and the way it crept in to close over the white frame. There he was again, whole and perfect as if nothing had even happened. Emphasis on perfect, Hank mused, eyes roaming over the beauty marks that dotted Connor’s torso and his pretty pink nipples. 

Hank dragged his eyes back up to Connor’s, which was probably a mistake. Connor was watching him with such concern and tenderness that it almost hurt. 

“Are you alright, Hank?” Connor asked. 

Hank laughed but it was more like a sob. “Jesus. You just performed surgery on yourself.”

“Yes, I realize that must have been upsetting to witness.”

Hank’s mouth fell open and he stared at Connor incredulously. “Who gives a fuck about me? You’re the one who was shot! It should be me taking care of you and here I am, just, just standing around and being useless!”

Connor’s brows were creased in confusion, LED circling a quizzical yellow. 

“You shouldn’t feel you have to protect me, Hank. I’m fully capable of-”

“Yeah, yeah, save it.” Hank waved him off, “Somebody’s gotta watch out for your crazy ass because you clearly don’t seem to give a shit what happens to you.”

“Is that what’s bothering you? You think I’m being reckless? I can assure you that every risk I take is calculated. If there’s more than a ten percent chance of your life being threatened, I take protective measures to ensure your safety.” 

Connor’s calm, even tone was driving Hank up the wall. He pulled at his hair, wearing a trench in the tile floor from his pacing. The android was still sitting there on the counter, feet dangling, shirt open and drenched in blood. Connor’s blood.  _ Connor could have died today.  _ Hank felt suddenly winded and he braced himself on the wall. 

“Connor, it’s not your job to be my goddamn bodyguard.”

“But I want to.” 

“Did you ever stop to think about what the hell I’d do? Huh?” Hank asked, face feeling hot from all the emotions seething just under his skin. “How the fuck I’d even live with myself if you died protecting me? Your life has value, Connor. As much value as mine or anyone else’s. Someday I hope you get that through your thick plastic skull.”

He couldn’t be in there another moment. The air was suffocating and Connor was still looking at him, his expression belying his inner turmoil. Hank’s throat was constricting with the urge to cry or maybe puke, so he let himself out of the bathroom, making a beeline for the nearest exit and the bracing winter wind. 

 

They rode home in tense silence until Connor finally interrupted it. 

“I’m sorry for being careless, Hank. I’ll try to be more considera-”

“Stop- stop, just-” Hank sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I just got so…”  _ scared _ . He swallowed that word and switched gears. “Anyway, thank you for saving my life. Again.”

He didn’t look at Connor but he could feel the gentle smile aimed in his direction. “My pleasure, Lieutenant.”

The uncomfortable atmosphere broke and Hank felt like he could breathe again. But there was still one thought he couldn’t keep from resurfacing again and again. He could lose Connor any day, especially given their dangerous profession. In the blink of an eye, Connor could be gone and Hank would have never told him how he felt; never taken that one in a million chance that Connor felt the same. 

His hands tightened on the steering wheel to keep himself grounded. He felt dangerously light in the head, like he stood up too fast, his insides taut with anxiety. Luckily, they’d just turned down Michigan and Hank’s house was in sight. He had a bottle of Black Lamb at home with his name on it and the mission of getting absolutely hammered. 

 

Connor hadn’t seen Hank this bad since the night he found him catatonic on the floor. He searched his memory for anything he could of done to upset Hank this much and came up empty handed. He realized that humans with depressive tendencies could sometimes fall into despair for no apparent reason, but he still felt somehow responsible. 

Hank had cracked open a fresh bottle of whiskey and was already a third of the way through it, showing no signs of stopping. He was on the couch, channel surfing absently until he lost track of what he was doing and just left it going on infomercials. Connor hovered on the perimeter of the room, searching for the right thing to say to make this better. 

“Hank,” he started, his tone gentle, “I really wish you wouldn’t drink so much.”  
Hank snorted, taking another pointed swig from the bottle. “Yeah, well I wish you’d leave me the fuck alone.”

That stung. The pain settled into Connor’s chest with a dull ache he was growing familiar with. He shouldn’t let the words bother him; Hank wasn’t himself. 

“Listen,” he tried again, moving into Hank’s line of sight, though Hank tried his utmost to avoid looking at him. “I understand that you’re experiencing a depressive episode-”

“You don’t understand shit!” Hank snapped, his eyes finally meeting Connor’s like he was trying to burn a hole right through him. 

“How long have you had emotions, huh?” Hank demanded, “Like a whole fucking month? What makes you the goddamn expert?”

Connor’s jaw clicked shut, LED whirling. He didn’t have a clever comeback for that one. “I see I overstepped my bounds,” Connor replied, his voice quiet and even though his thirium pump was thrumming fast, filling him with hot shame. “Forgive me.”

Hank didn’t respond, nor did he look at Connor. He took another drink, and Connor got the hint. He left the room, deciding he’d abandon Hank to his own devices until he wore himself out. The only thing that kept him from leaving the house altogether was the ever present fear that Hank might harm himself. Connor went to Hank’s bedroom and collected both his revolver and his service weapon. He hid them under the kitchen sink, tucked behind cleaning supplies and dish detergent. 

He’d return them when he was certain Hank was out of the danger zone. For now, it made him feel much calmer to know that the firearms were out of reach. At a loss for what to do now, Connor seated himself at the kitchen table. He let his eyes slip closed, entering his mind palace for some much needed rest. 

 

Connor came to almost four hours later; he hadn’t meant to stay in stasis for that long but he couldn’t deny that he felt better— his processors had been getting sluggish, his motor skills getting sloppy with lack of ample charging time. He pulled a coin out of his pocket and began the calibrations to restore his coordination. 

It didn’t take android hearing to pick up Hank’s loud snores from the couch. That meant that he was likely on his back and thus more likely to asphyxiate. Connor pocketed his coin and hurried into the living room. Sure enough, Hank was still in a seated position, somewhat reclined. His head was tipped all the way back, mouth open and snoring like he was trying to suck all the air out of the room. 

Connor cursed himself for being in stasis too long and letting Hank fall asleep in such an uncomfortable and dangerous position. Apart from his concern, Connor revelled in the fact that Hank would be sore tomorrow. It somehow eased the ache in his chest to know that Hank would also hurt, if only physically. Connor felt terrible for thinking that, but Hank’s hurtful words were still echoing in his mind. 

He set his own feelings aside for the moment and did what he had to do. 

“Hank.” Connor stood behind the couch, looking at Hank’s face upside down. 

There was no response, just another bone-rattling snore. 

Connor sighed and called his name louder, slapping his cheeks, but not as hard as last time. Hank’s nose scrunched and he scowled but his eyes were still closed. He clumsily reached for Connor’s hands but couldn’t quite manage to grab him. 

“Hank!” Connor practically yelled, and that got him to crack his eyes open. 

The older man gazed blearily up at him, blue eyes bloodshot and unfocused. “W’ss it?” Hank slurred, his breath pungent with the scent of alcohol. 

“Hank, I need to check your blood-alcohol content. Do I have your permission?”

Hank’s eyes were slipping closed and Connor slapped his cheek again. 

“Leave me ‘lone,” Hank muttered, but he opened his eyes nonetheless. “Hell you want?”

“May I check your BAC, Hank?”

“Whatev’r you gotta,” Hank said, with a shrug that came off more as a loll of his head. 

Connor took a calming breath, to steady his quickened heart. He tried his best to ignore his own attraction, attacking the situation with professionalism. This was just another analytical feature he possessed, definitely not a kiss. 

Before he could think better of it, he gently sealed his own lips over Hank’s open mouth, inhaling Hank’s breath into his own lungs. Hank startled under him, making some groaning sound in his throat as Connor pulled away. The whole thing lasted about two seconds but Connor’s lips were still tingling with the afterburn of Hank’s. 

“Con?” Hank asked, staring up at him in bafflement. 

“I am equipped with a breathalyzer,” Connor explained as evenly as he could, though his pump was racing. “Your blood-alcohol level is extremely high but not life threatening. We need to get you into bed.”

“You kissed me,” Hank said quietly. 

Connor’s face burned. “No, I just told you, it wasn’t a kiss.”

Hank smiled then, big and lopsided and Connor felt his synthetic stomach drop and fizzle with warmth. He could wax poetic on Hank’s smile, if he knew anything about poetry. The tempting pink of his lips, that little gap between his teeth that Connor was kinda crazy about. Hank reached up, slightly more coordinated this time, and pushed his fingers into Connor’s hair. 

The android froze, and then was wracked by a full-body shudder, starting at the top of his head and rolling right down his spine. He gasped, not realizing just how much he’d missed Hank’s hands. He had become accustomed to touch over the last couple months, was starved for it. So Hank retracting those casual touches had felt like a punch to the gut, or what he assumed a punch in the gut would feel like if he could be winded. Nothing hurt so much as this physical rejection by the only person he wanted to be close to. 

Now, with Hank’s blunt fingernails raking over his scalp, Connor struggled not to moan, his body starting to respond with arousal. He pulled away from Hank’s hand in embarrassment, trying his damndest to redirect his thirium flow away from his dick before he could shame himself any further. 

“Come on,” Connor said. “Bathroom and then bed.”

“Mmm, bed,” Hank murmured with a lazy grin. 

Connor chose not to acknowledge the sharp stab of desire he felt, instead rounding the couch and taking Hank by the hands, hauling him upright to a chorus of grunts and cursing. Getting Hank all the way to the bathroom proved to be a herculean task, the man seeming determined to be as heavy and unhelpful as possible, dragging his feet and mumbling about harassment.

Luckily, Hank was able to manage using the bathroom by himself, Connor waiting patiently outside the door for him. The toilet flushed; Connor heard some fumbling, Hank’s stumbling footsteps approaching the door. He seemed surprised to see Connor still standing  there, and even more surprised when Connor grabbed Hank’s hand again, pulling his arm up around the android’s shoulders, his own arm circling the lieutenant’s back. 

Hank leaned heavily into him as Connor led him across the hall and onto the bed. Hank fell heavily onto the mattress but he managed to snag Connor’s sleeve, tugging him down right on top. Connor sat up immediately, desperate to get away before his traitorous body had time to react. Hank’s hold tightened as he squirmed and he frowned up at Connor. 

“N’gonna join me?” Hank asked, looking truly disappointed. 

Connor’s pump regulator malfunctioned briefly, a skipped electric pulse that left him hanging in utter stillness for one blank moment. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Hank, you’re not yourself,” Connor argued, still trying to extricate his arm from the man’s grasp. 

“You know you gotta freckle inside your ear?” Hank asked, apropos of nothing. 

Connor blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Who thought to put a damn freckle in your ear?” he mused, “Drives me fuckin’ nuts.”

Connor wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that but it sounded like a compliment. He flushed, and looked away. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle the soft look in Hank’s eyes. 

“S’cute when you get flustered,” Hank said with a low chuckle. 

That did it; it got Connor’s blood rushing, cock filling out against his will. He made a strangled sound and used all of his force to pull himself free. Hank let him go and Connor staggered back. Hank looked at him for a moment and then his eyes glazed over and he yawned. He turned over onto his stomach and promptly went back to sleep, snores now muffled by his pillow. 

Connor nearly ran from the room, LED flashing yellow and red as he frantically tried to process all the conflicting signals Hank was sending out. His social interaction program was useless in the event of human unpredictability, and Hank was pretty damn unpredictable lately. 

Standing between the living room and the kitchen, Connor oscillated on the spot, unsure where to go from there. The arousal between his legs was still present despite all attempts at redirecting his thirium flow. Unwilling to reward himself for such untoward behavior, Connor decided to throw every ounce of his attention into cleaning the house from top to bottom. It had gotten a little out of hand during the course of their recent case; Connor was hardly ever not at the station and Hank never had the energy or drive to any of it himself. 

With the increased motion, his erection dissipated and he managed to focus on something that wasn’t the all consuming urge to go crawl into bed beside Hank. He told himself that Hank would never consent to such a thing, were he sober, and so it would be wrong for Connor to use him for his own enjoyment, no matter how much he yearned to. 

The next day, Hank obviously felt like shit. There were pots and pans banging together inside his skull, his mouth dry and tasting foul. Any fast movement made his head swim with the threat of nausea. Connor, bless his little android heart, left a glass of water and some painkillers by the bed. There was a sticky note requesting that he please drink all of it. 

Pills washed down, Hank made a beeline for the shower, eager to get all the stale alcohol sweat off of his body. After he dried off and brushed his teeth, he was starting to slowly feel like a human again. The only missing component was a good, strong cup of coffee. 

When he reached the kitchen and saw that Connor already had a fresh pot brewed, he could have wept with gratitude. He drank as much of it as he could stomach, the caffeine easing the constricting vice around his brain enough that thoughts began to occur to him. 

Thoughts like: _ How did I manage to embarrass myself this time? Where’s Connor?  _ It was like a bucket of ice was suddenly upended over his head.  _ Did I...did I do something to Connor? _

As if on cue, Connor came through the front door, stomping snow from his feet. Sumo tried to get past Connor’s legs to bypass the toweling off that he dearly needed. Connor managed to trap him between his legs and reach for the microfibre towel he had within easy reach of the door. Hank watched as Connor dried the dog as efficiently as possible, all the while cooing endearments and praise. 

When he finished, Sumo bounded off, stopping to shake himself when he was out of Connor’s reach. Connor smiled, and then he looked up and met Hank’s gaze. There was something complicated behind the usual sunny expression he greeted Hank with in the mornings. Hank swallowed hard, hating to have put that look in his eyes. 

Connor strode toward the kitchen, slipping out of the coat he’d worn outside and folding it over his arm. “Morning, Hank,” he said, “How are you feeling?”

“Like death warmed up,” Hank replied, his voice dragging into a rasp. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “Look, Connor. Could you, uh. Take a seat for a minute?”

A slight twitch of Connor’s eyebrows betrayed his anxiety but his voice was calm. “Of course.”

He sat down across from Hank, folding his hands in front of him like he was attending a business meeting. He waited patiently for Hank to speak, those big doe eyes staring into his soul. This was going to be difficult. 

Hank licked his suddenly dry lips, took a breath, and then began, “I wanna say I’m sorry about yesterday. Something about seeing you hurt, just, triggered something in me. I lost control of myself and went to a dark place. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

He dropped his eyes from Connor’s, instead looking into the dregs of his coffee cup as he continued, “I don’t remember anything after we got home. I know I probably said some real nasty shit to you, so I’m sorry for that too. I didn’t mean any of it, Con. I just run my stupid mouth when I’m drunk, say things I’d never say.

“Now, you don’t have to say you understand or that you accept my apology. You can be mad as long as you want. I deserve it. I just wanted you to know that.”

He dared an upward glance and saw the most perplexing mix of emotions in Connor’s eyes. Hank watched the noticeable shift when Connor regained composure, putting on that cool facade he wore so well. He smiled a small, professional smile, and nodded. 

“Thank you, Hank. Don’t worry; you’re only human. I know you didn’t mean it.”

The words sounded right but his voice was hollow. Hank felt gutted and he had absolutely no idea how to fix it. Some tenuous thing between them had broken and Hank felt its absence like a missing tooth. The distance expanded between them once again and Hank only had himself to blame. He wanted to reach out and take Connor’s hand but he didn’t know if that would be welcome. He hated not knowing where they stood. 

 

“Excuse me,” Connor said, getting to his feet, “I need to enter my mind palace.”

If Hank responded, Connor didn’t hear it. He moved woodenly toward the couch and sank into it, already pulling further and further into himself. The world around him disappeared and the next time he opened his eyes, he was in his zen garden. 

The sky was overcast; thunder rumbling in the distance. The air was getting colder by the moment and Connor wrapped his arms around himself, feeling like his pump regulator was going to implode. Pain lanced through his consciousness, bringing him down to his knees. 

_ Things I’d never say.  _

_ Things I’d  _ never  _ say. _

He didn’t mean any of it. Connor knew Hank’s angry words had been drunken vitriol and nothing more but somewhere inside, he was holding onto the vain hope that Hank had meant the nice things. He didn’t realize that particular hope even existed until it was cruelly yanked out from under him. 

The rational part of him said this wasn’t a big deal; they’d get past this. Connor would get a hold of himself and they’d go back to the way things were. But his lovesick heart longed for more, wanted more so very badly that Connor feared he’d lose control and jeopardize everything, just for the chance. 

One way or another, this problem needed a solution; they simply couldn’t live like this much longer. 

  
  


On December thirty-first, the solution presented itself in the form of an epiphany. They were at the station and Connor ducked into the breakroom to get Hank a cup of coffee; he hadn’t asked for it but Connor was in tune with Hank’s behavioral patterns enough to know that he was running low on energy. 

While he was brewing a personal sized coffee pod, he overheard a group of officers discussing their plans for New Years Eve. Connor was aware that humans liked to celebrate the coming of a new year but was clueless as to the actual traditions involved. He listened closely, picking up on the fact that excessive drinking would occur; he made a mental note to plan something to distract Hank away from the bottle. 

As he turned to leave, a young detective, who had been friendly toward Connor in the past, caught his attention. 

“Hey, Connor,” she called, “Got any big plans for tonight?”

“Not as of yet,” Connor replied, “It’s my first one. Do you have any suggestions?”

“The fireworks are gonna be pretty cool,” one of her friends supplied. 

The others nodded in agreement. 

“Fireworks? Where?”

“Over Detroit River. They do it at midnight.”

Connor’s LED spun as he stored the useful information. 

“You gotta watch the ball drop of course,” the detective said, “And find somebody to smooch at midnight.”

Connor cocked his head questioningly. 

“It’s a tradition,” she explained, “You’re supposed to kiss the person you want to spend the new year with. It’s for good luck.”

An idea struck Connor like a lightning bolt, spiralling out into a plan that presented itself like a new Mission.  _ Operation: Confess Love to Hank.  _

His artificial breathing quickened; he could feel the nervous excitement squirming inside him as dozens of pre-constructions unfolded before his eyes. 

“That’s very helpful, thank you,” Connor said abruptly, and he hurried from the room as quickly as the mug of hot coffee in his hand would allow. 

Connor was once again thankful for his android ability to follow many trains of thought at once. He divided his attention evenly between his deskwork and researching everything he needed to know in order to pull off the evening he had planned. 

For instance, he learned that the ‘ball drop’ mentioned in the breakroom was in reference to an event which occurred annually in New York City. He didn’t really understand the hype or reasoning behind it, but that was neither here nor there.

By the time they clocked out for the day, Connor had formulated his plan. The statistical chance that it would succeed was not encouragingly high, but regardless of the outcome Connor had to try. He prepared dinner for Hank, greens and lean steak; he knew that the best way to get Hank in a good mood was to let him eat meat. He even went so far as to caramelize some onions for garnish. 

“What’s the occasion?” Hank asked, upon seeing his good fortune. 

“New Year’s?” Connor said, hoping that was a good enough excuse. 

“Oh shit, I keep forgetting that’s today.” Hank raked a hand over his face, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Seems years just go faster and faster the older you get.”

“Is there any way you wanted to celebrate?” Connor asked, trying not to sound overeager. 

Hank shook his head as he sat down to his meal. “I got nothin’” he said. “It’s just another day to me, honestly.”

A moment of silence passed, in which Connor tried to decide the best approach, but Hank beat him to the punch. 

“Why, did you want to do something?”

Connor perked up immediately, which made Hank grin. “Actually,” Connor said, taking a seat at the table across from Hank, “I’ve been giving it some thought.”

“Oh yeah?”  
“Would you mind if we went back to Ambassador Bridge? To watch the fireworks.”

Hank searched his eyes for any sign he was kidding and then just shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t see why not.” 

Connor struggled to contain his elation. Step one of his mission was completed successfully. Now, all he had to do was wait until the time was right. In the meantime, all he could do was fret over what he was going to wear and what he was going to say. 

He mentally sifted through hundreds of outfit combinations until he found something that suited the occasion. He chose a wine colored button-up, made of slick satin material, his black blazer and a pair of dark, fitted jeans. When the time came, he excused himself to get dressed, closing Hank’s bedroom door behind him. Hank had graciously let him use the empty half of his closet for Connor’s clothes, so they usually just took turns when changing or Hank would take his own to the bathroom. 

Connor dressed and examined himself in the wardrobe mirror, nitpicking everything about his appearance, tucking and then untucking his shirt, then tucking it back in. He tried pushing all of his hair back but that errant lock always flopped back down onto his forehead. He gave it up for a lost cause and stood back, examining himself. He realized this was considered preening but he needed every asset at his disposal to increase the likelihood of a successful mission. 

Basically, he wanted to look good for Hank. 

He felt like he looked good, but he’d gotten some pretty conflicting messages from Hank in regards to his appearance. Connor was still trying to figure out his own concept of beauty and where he stood within it. He knew the things he liked about Hank- he loved his stature, his long silver hair, his brilliant blue eyes, his soft, huggable middle and strong arms. 

Connor could get lost in all the little things about his partner that made his pump regulator malfunction; he shook his head to rid it of the love-addled haze that had descended. Frowning at his reflection, he noted that there were no similarities between him and Hank. Connor was on the tall side but still petit enough to be non-threatening, his physique somewhere between lithe and athletic. The delicate planes of his face had nothing in common with Hank’s rugged, aquiline features. His smooth cheeks would never grow a beard.

He recalled Hank saying his face was ‘goofy’. He wondered what exactly about it that was so absurd. To his knowledge, his face was just a face. Average and unassuming, he figured. It made sense, considering his profession. He was starting to feel self-conscious, the longer he stared at himself in the mirror, wondering if Hank found him remotely attractive.

A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts. 

“Yes?” 

“You still wanna do the firework thing?” Hank asked from the other side of the door. 

“Yes, I’m almost ready,” Connor called back. 

“Cool, I’ll just wait in the living room.” 

Hank’s footsteps retreated and Connor sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks and shoes. He took a moment to steel himself, reaffirming his mission objectives before standing and striding out the door. 

Hank was seated on the couch. He turned his head when he heard Connor coming, and then did a double-take that was almost comical. His mouth fell open, his eyes raking up and down Connor’s form. Well, Connor had a pretty decent understanding of human body language and there was no mistaking the spike in Hank’s heart rate or the widening of his pupils.  _ This just might work after all.  _

Connor smiled, small and shy. Hank cleared his throat and dragged his eyes away from Connor before he managed to speak. 

“Uh, you…” Hank started, gesturing vaguely, “All dressed up, huh?”

Connor lifted his shoulder in a little shrug, one he’d learned from Hank. “Just felt like looking nice. Do I?”

Hank looked at him again, eyebrows inclined. “What? Do you what?”

“Do I look nice, Hank?” Connor’s heart was racing.

If Hank had been drinking something, he would have choked. As it was, he just floundered for a long moment before saying, “Yeah. You do. You look real nice.”

Connor beamed. “Ready to go?” he asked. 

Hank nodded dumbly and followed Connor to the door, pulling his coat on, and a scarf for good measure. Connor wore the long great coat he bought with his first backlog paycheck. Of course, wearing a coat wasn’t necessary but being cold was less than comfortable and it helped him blend in with the humans around him. Besides, it spun out like a ballgown when he turned, which made him feel special in a way he didn’t quite understand. 

With the music cranked up, Hank drove them out to his usual spot; the one they came to after the Eden Club. It was just as deserted as it had been that night, much to Connor’s relief. It would be much easier to have this conversation without having to worry about any onlookers. 

It was less than half an hour until midnight. They left the car, which had only just begun to warm up, and walked out to the bench, snow and ice crunching underfoot. Hank perched on the backrest, as he did before, with his shoes in the seat. 

“Is it more comfortable like this?” Connor asked, following Hank’s example and sitting beside him. 

Hank snorted, “I wouldn’t say comfortable but it’s better than freezing my ass numb on that seat.” 

“Ah. Very practical,” Connor said, approvingly. 

They sat in companionable quiet for a while, just gazing out at the river. The distant lights of Ontario shimmered on the surface of the water as if on black glass. The bridge was lit in festive colors, the headlights of cars streaking back and forth across the border. Connor thought of Kara and wondered what she and her little family were up to. He hoped they were safe and warm somewhere across the river. 

“What time is it?” Hank asked. 

“11:45,” Connor responded instantly. Not like he’d been watching the clock or anything. “That reminds me…”

He held out his hand, palm up, and projected a video feed into the air in front of their faces. Hank hadn’t seen this particular trick before and Connor smiled at his look of surprise. 

“Whoa. Hang on, is that Times Square? We’re gonna watch the ball drop?”

“I’d like to. I’ve never seen it before. Do you mind?”

“Nah, be my guest.”

Connor switched the sound on, music jarringly loud in the still of night. They watched the end of a musical performance; Connor was still discovering his preferences in regards to music genres but he now knew for sure that he did not care for whatever kind of pseudo-rap/bubblegum pop business that was happening on stage. He scanned the band members and found that they were all androids. In that case, they must have written all their songs before deviance. That was the only thing Connor could think of that would account for the complete lack of substance. 

“This is terrible,” Connor declared, earning a hearty laugh from the lieutenant. 

“Oh thank God,” Hank said, “If you said you liked this shit, we would have  _ Words _ .”

It was Connor’s turn to laugh. It felt good; it eased the tension that was coiling tighter and tighter in his chest. The video switched to commercials— it was 11:50 now. Connor’s heart was already racing. 

A particularly icy wind swept in off the river, making Hank curse and hunch in on himself further. “That damn wind feels like fuckin’ knives.” 

Connor scanned Hank’s vitals, finding that he was fine besides his slight arrhythmia and a small dip in his core temperature. Making an executive decision for the betterment of Hank’s health, Connor scooted close enough to press their bodies together, shoulder to thigh. He felt the other man stiffen and then slowly, methodically start to relax. 

The show came back on at 11:56. To Connor’s surprise, he felt Hank’s arm come up around his back. Sure, it could just be for warmth but Connor was still soaring high with the feeling. He leaned into Hank a little further to indicate that the touch was welcome. Hank’s hand snuck around his waist. Connor wasn’t surprised to see steam rising from his own mouth; his system trying to expel the excess heat that was building in his core. 

The announcers were saying something that Connor was a little too dazed to hear. His processors were making an audible whirring sound as the moment drew near, vividly constructing every way his plan could fail. He was so incredibly afraid; if he were human he was sure he’d be sick with nerves. 

His audio processors perked up when he heard a countdown commence. His focus returned to the projection; millions of people all chanting at once as the camera zoomed in on the giant glowing ball suspended high in the air. Its surface was covered in thousands of little shining triangles, which reminded Connor of the symbol he used to wear on his breast. 

With every number chanted by the crowd, the ball descended several feet, closing in on the giant sign that read ‘2039’. The wires in Connor’s gut seemed to twist, pulse thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird. 

“5...4...3”

Connor licked his lips, making tiny micro-corrections to his posture to ensure a smooth movement. Hank’s eyes were trained on the projected screen, the bluish reflection making his eyes glow brighter than Connor’s LED. 

“...2...1...HAPPY NEW YEAR!” 

As soon as the words were uttered, Connor quickly turned, his hand coming up to guide Hank’s face toward his own; he pressed right up into his space, captured the hot breath that gusted across his mouth and crushed their lips together. At the same moment, there was a sharp squeal of sound and then the almighty BANG of a firework exploding above their heads. There was no way to perceive this as a platonic kiss, with Connor’s fingers gripping his hair, the almost rough treatment belying Connor’s desperation. 

Connor pulled back much faster than he’d like, but he needed to make sure Hank didn’t hate him before adding any tongues to the mix. Their eyes met and Connor drew a shaky breath at the sight of Hank’s pupils eating up all the blue, dark with what Connor really hoped was desire and not anger. 

“What the fuck, Connor?” Hank asked, his voice tremulous. 

“It is customary to kiss the person you wish to spend the coming year with,” Connor explained. 

“Y-yeah, I know that, but. You know what that implies, don’t you?”

Connor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course, Hank. I’m not completely clueless.”

“So you mean you actually want…” Hank gestured at himself with the same attitude one would have toward a bag of garbage. He looked so honestly perplexed that Connor’s heart ached. 

He reached out and took Hank’s hand, considering it a victory when Hank allowed it. 

“I’m perfectly aware of what this means, Hank. That’s why I did it,” Connor said, “I want you. All of you, for as long as I can,” once the words started coming it was hard to get them to stop, “Whatever you’re willing to give me, be it friendship or something more, I’ll take it gladly so long as I can remain by your side.”

He stared into Hank’s eyes, unwaveringly. His thirium pump felt like it would shake his chassis apart. Countless emotions passed over Hank’s face, from incredulous to tentatively hopeful. He bit his lower lip and Connor wanted to kiss him again. 

“I...sorry,” Hank said, flushing at all the attention, “I’m just having a hard time believing this is actually happening.” 

Connor chuckled and squeezed Hank’s hand with his own. He raised them both to his mouth and placed a reverent kiss on Hank’s knuckles. Hank watched him with hooded eyes; a scan revealed that his heart rate was elevated, body warming up despite the frigid weather. 

“I’m not good at this sort of thing,” Hank said, his voice thick with restrained emotion. “But, Connor…” Hank’s thumb was rubbing soothing circles on the back of Connor’s hand and the sensation crept all the way up his arm, tingling him all over. Hank looked at him again, eyes noticeably damp.

“Connor, you are the best thing that’s happened to me in...well, a long fucking time. You saved my life in more ways than one; you’re kind, caring, and smart as hell, and I’d be lying if I said you were anything less than gorgeous.” 

Connor felt heat shoot through every limb. His assumptions about his appearance were evidently wrong.  _ Gorgeous. He said gorgeous.  _ Connor’s head was swimming. 

“What I don’t understand is what someone like you sees in a washed up old drunk like me. But, if you’re saying that you actually want me...Then I guess I’d be a goddamn fool to turn you down.”

Connor blinked, playing back that last part a few times so he could be certain his ears weren’t deceiving him. He gaped at Hank, his state of the art brain struggling to formulate a coherent sentence. 

Luckily, actions speak louder than words. This time, when Connor leaned in for a kiss, Hank met him halfway. He took Connor’s face in his hands, angling his mouth open just right before swiping his tongue along the android’s lower lip. Connor gasped, a bolt of pleasure singeing his circuitry. He made himself pliant under Hank’s experienced touch, groaning as the man’s tongue slid against his own. 

He clung to Hank, hands twisting the fabric of his coat as he tried to copy Hank’s movements; sucking his tongue, tugging a lip between his teeth. He had no idea kisses could be like this. It felt like his whole body was prepared to go up in flames. Fireworks continued to burst in the sky but neither of them could care. 

When Hank pulled away, Connor chased him but large hands gently stayed his shoulders. “One of us has to breathe,” Hank reminded him with a soft laugh. 

“Sorry, Hank. I’m finding it difficult to control myself.” Connor admitted, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”

“Oh yeah?” Hank asked, his voice deep and gravelly, stirring something hot and molten in Connor’s gut. 

Connor nodded. “Have you thought about it?” he asked, almost afraid of hearing the answer. 

“Are you kidding me? Only every time I jerk off in the shower.” 

That startled a laugh out of Connor but also filled him with a clawing kind of need, the likes of which he’d never known. Hank touched himself while thinking about him. The thought of it was intoxicating. 

“I think about you too,” Connor said shyly, “When I pleasure myself.”

“Fuck,” Hank breathed, his pulse spiking again. He looked at Connor like he was some kind of miracle and then got to his feet, tugging Connor up along with him. 

“Where are we going?” Connor asked, following willingly. 

“Home,” Hank replied, “The things I want to do to you require privacy and a horizontal surface.”

Connor’s dick throbbed so intensely it made him gasp. “Hannkk,” the name left his lips on a moan. 

Growling, Hank pressed another possessive kiss to his mouth. “You’re gonna kill me,” he said.

“That’s statistically unlikely,” Connor replied. 

“Man, you could use a little work on your dirty talk, Con,” Hank said with a laugh, “Don’t worry, I can teach you.”

Connor’s grip on Hank’s hand tightened. “You better take me home, then, and show me the ropes.”

“Shit. Yeah. Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

The ride home was the longest of Hank’s entire life. Connor hadn’t relinquished his hand, holding it securely on top of his own thigh. He was caressing Hank’s skin like he couldn’t get enough of the sensation, and Hank thought he might have a heart attack before they even got down to business. 

Connor stayed close after they got out of the car, pressing into Hank’s back as he fumbled to unlock his front door. He could feel Connor’s warmth through their clothes and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on him. After a creative string of swears, Hank shoved the correct key in the lock and swung the door open with force, causing it to bang against the inner wall. Sumo barked until he saw his owner cross the threshold and then gave it up for thumping his tail happily on the floor. 

Hank turned on Connor as soon as the android had his back to the closed door. Hank crowded into his space, unable to resist pinning that lithe form between the wood and himself. Connor let out a little gasp, his big dark eyes pleading up at him, pink lips parted. Who was Hank to deny such an invitation? With a primal snarl building in his throat, Hank lunged forward and snared Connor’s mouth with his own. 

Connor’s hands latched onto Hank’s back, clawing at the fabric of his coat like he planned on ripping it right off. Hank licked into his willing mouth, groaning at the slick heat that greeted him in the form of Connor’s enthusiastic tongue. A desperate whimper spilled into Hank’s mouth as Connor rocked up against him, making the hard line of his arousal obvious against Hank’s thigh. 

“Fuck,” Hank breathed when the kiss broke. He started struggling out of his coat and Connor did the same, letting it drop to the floor in a heap. Seeing Connor, usually so neat and tidy, making a mess was inexplicably hot. Hank wanted to utterly debauch him. 

Free of his coat and blazer, Connor stood there in his silky red shirt, the buttons straining with every rise of his heaving chest. Hank could just make out the hard points of his nipples and before he knew it, his hand was on Connor’s chest; looking massive against the android’s smaller form. Connor sighed prettily, pressing into the touch as Hank rolled a pert nipple under his thumb, framing Connor’s ribcage with his fingers. Hank was getting a little obsessed with how perfectly grabable he was.

“Hank…” Connor groaned, letting his head roll back, baring the tatalyzing stretch of his pale throat. 

Hank followed it like a beacon, mouthing hungry kisses all over that shockingly realistic skin. Connor’s hum of pleasure reverberated against his lips and Hank reached down, grabbing two handfuls of equally realistic ass, putting his own leg back between Connor’s as he pulled the android flush against his chest. Connor let out a low, needy sound, grinding the bulge of his cock against Hank’s muscular thigh. 

Kissing all the skin he could reach, Hank made his way back to Connor’s mouth, the hands on his rear encouraging the motion of his hips. Hank rumbled out a groan as Connor dug his fingers into his hair, tugging just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure straight to his groin. Between the kissing and grinding and Connor’s delectable sounds, it was all becoming too much but not enough. 

“Connor,” Hank rasped into his ear. Connor shivered against him. 

“Hank,” he replied, sounding breathless despite not needing to breathe. 

“What do you say,” he bit the shell of Connor’s ear, flicking his tongue against it to hear him gasp, “We take this to the bedroom?”

Connor nodded frantically, “Yes, yes, yesyes, please, take me to bed, Hank.”

Hank swore and pushed the heel of his hand down on the insistent ache in his cock. “‘Take me to bed’ he says,” Hank repeated with a dark chuckle, and then swiftly hoisted Connor’s legs up around his hips. Connor looked surprised and delighted, tightening his thighs around Hank. 

“Oh, I’ll take you.” Hank kissed him soundly on the lips and started walking them both toward his bedroom. 

He kicked the door shut behind them, to prevent Sumo from coming in and making it weird. Meeting Connor’s eyes for a wry smile, Hank tossed the android onto the bed. The yelp and ensuing laughter that bubbled out of Connor was so purely happy that it filled Hank’s chest until hurt with how much he loved him. He followed Connor onto the bed, kicking out of his shoes and socks along the way. 

Connor’s LED was glowing a bright, spinning blue, interspersed with flickers of yellow. The light from the moon reflected off the snow, its long fingers reaching through the slats of Hank’s blinds to illuminate the planes of Connor’s face, revealing the red flush that had blossomed on his cheeks. 

Hank kissed him again because he just couldn’t help it; Connor’s hands moved between them, frantically undoing the buttons of his own shirt. Hank stilled his hands and took over the task, kissing down every inch of revealed skin as he went. Connor squirmed under him, his fingers curling in the blankets. 

“This shirt looks good on you,” Hank said, placing a kiss over Connor’s heart, “It’ll look even better on my floor.” 

He winked up at Connor who swatted his arm, “I can’t believe you actually just said that.” He paused, “And I can’t believe it worked.” 

Hank laughed, undoing another button. He kissed Connor’s cosmetic belly-button, smiling when his belly jumped at the brush of his beard. Curious, he rubbed his cheek and chin against Connor’s skin, eliciting a full body shudder. Hank filed that interesting bit of information away for later. 

The last button came free and Hank sat back, looking at the absolute vision before him. The edges of the blood red fabric framed his smooth, perfect torso. He was toned, yet soft, his body speckled with the moles and freckles that adorned his face and neck. Hank couldn’t wait to see how far down they went. He reached out and pushed the shirt off of Connor’s shoulders, using it to trap his arms, keeping them to his sides. 

Connor tested the fabric, knowing he could easily tear it if he wanted. But instead, he submitted, arching his back just slightly in offering. Hank growled and attacked Connor’s chest, sealing his mouth over a perfect pink nipple. Connor cried out when Hank started to suck, writhing in his restraints. Hank rolled the hard nub between his teeth, gave it one more kiss, and then delivered the same treatment to the other. 

While Hank was still laving over his chest, Connor suddenly jolted and made a small sound of surprise. 

“What?” Hank asked.

“Um,” Connor blinked, avoiding Hank’s eyes as he spoke, “I-it appears that I...possess a self-lubrication feature.”

Hank stared at him, uncomprehending for a long moment— and then it dawned on him. More like it came up and grabbed him by the dick. He licked his lips, glancing down between them and then back up at Connor. The mortified look on his face confirmed it. 

“Connor, are you tellin’ me that you’re fucking  _ wet _ ?”

The android bit his lip, finally meeting Hank’s gaze with those innocent eyes. Hank couldn’t take the suspense anymore; his hands flew to Connor’s pants, deftly undoing the fly. Connor lifted his hips to help Hank remove his jeans, leaving him in a pair of dark blue boxer-briefs and the red shirt still trapping his arms. He looked like a beautiful buffet laid out for Hank’s personal indulgence. 

Connor was growing self-conscious the more he was looked at, pulling his knees in to shield himself. That just wouldn’t do. Hank kneeled and grabbed Connor’s legs, pushing them up and open so he could get between them again. Spread out with his thighs draped over Hank’s, it was easy to see that Connor hadn’t been kidding. Hank let out a gutted little noise at the wetness seeping into his jeans. The back of Connor’s underwear were practically soaked. 

“Can I?” Hank asked breathlessly, fingers dancing around the waistband of Connor’s boxers. 

Face red, Connor just nodded, letting Hank maneuver him out of his underwear and toss them onto the floor. Hank groaned at the sight of him, sliding his hands reverently up Connor’s hairless thighs. He was beautiful everywhere; his cock was perfectly formed, flushed pink and dewey in a way that could only be described as  _ pretty. _ Hank grabbed him and tilted his hips up enough that he could get a good look between his cheeks. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, at the sight of the pink, glistening hole, clenching with need.

“Is it...it doesn’t bother you, does it?” Connor asked. Bless him; he sounded so insecure. “I know that my anatomy differs from humans but-”

“Connor. Stop right there.” Hank held up a hand to halt the flow of words. Connor snapped his mouth shut and waited. “Look, I couldn’t care less what you’re packing down there. As long as I can make my partner come, I’m happy. That being said,” Hank paused, looking for the right words, “This is. The single hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

Connor’s face split into a radiant smile. He sat up, ridding himself of the shirt, and put his arms around Hank’s neck. Hank’s hands came up to grip Connor’s waist as the android kissed him again, warm and pliant in his arms.  His hands wandered around to Hank’s front and started undoing the buttons of his tacky shirt. 

Hank was flooded with a wave of uncertainty. Part of him really wanted to halt Connor’s progress, tell him he preferred to keep it on. But Connor was here, so naked and vulnerable before him. Could Hank really deny him if it was what he wanted? 

“Don’t get too excited,” Hank warned, voice dripping with self-deprecation. 

Connor’s fingers stilled and he looked up at Hank, his penetrating stare making Hank increasingly mortified. 

“ _ What? _ ” he demanded, a tad shrill. 

“I hate it when you say those things,” Connor admitted, quiet but firm. 

Hank dodged his eyes, feeling heat crawl up the back of his neck. He gave a half shrug as he said, “All I mean is, my body is very different from yours.” That was the nicest way he could phrase it. “I may have lost a few pounds since you moved in but I’m far from fit.”

He was startled to feel Connor’s palm against his cheek; the artificial skin retracted to reveal the white plastic beneath, as if he were trying to interface with Hank. The act was unspeakably intimate. He reluctantly let Connor guide his face back to his own. The meltingly soft look in Connor’s eyes was mixed with  determination. 

“Hank,” he began, and Hank could feel something like a pulse fluttering against his cheek, the same kind of gentle vibration emitted by electric machinery. “Please try and believe me when I say that I find your body far more desirable than any other I’ve seen. I don’t know if that’s because of my feelings toward you or if I have an innate preference for large, powerful men.” Hank huffed out a little laugh and Connor smiled. 

“Regardless,” he continued, and pushed the open shirt down off of Hank’s broad shoulders. Hank tensed but didn’t try to cover himself. “I’ve been dying to get my hands on you from the moment I deviated; maybe even before.”

Hank shivered under Connor’s intense gaze, feeling those dark eyes rove all over his exposed torso. Connor drew in a sharp breath and reached out, placing his hand in the center of Hank’s chest, right over his tattoo. He carded his fingers through the thick grey hair over his pecs, mouth falling open at the sensation of it against his palms.

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Connor whispered, tracing its faded lines with the tip of his finger. “Are there more?”

Hank’s hands stroked up and down Connor’s sides, humming his approval as Connor gently tugged his chest hair. “How bout you wait and find out?”

Connor nodded, hands roving over Hank’s body, dragging his nails over the solid curve of Hank’s belly and wriggling impatiently on his lap. “You’re perfect, Hank,” he breathed, leaning in to lick a hot stripe up the lieutenant’s neck. Hank rocked up against him, grinding himself on the android’s bare ass, pulling soft moans from them both. 

“Shit, Connor,” he said as Connor’s teeth nipped the skin over his thrumming jugular vein. 

He patted Connor’s hips and pulled back, “Come on, lemme get my pants off.” Connor scrambled off of him so fast it was almost comical, if Hank weren’t caught up in how unbelievably eager he was. Connor sat back, legs spread invitingly, his hungry gaze trained on Hank’s hands where they fumbled with his belt. 

All the rapt attention was unfamiliar to Hank, but it was exhilarating to feel so wanted. He made quick work of his belt, unceremoniously pulling his jeans down and kicking them off to join Connor’s on the floor. Connor’s eyed fixed immediately to the huge erection tenting the front of Hank’s boxers. Hank watched his tongue sneak out to wet his lips and imagined sliding his dick right in there, fucking his pretty mouth; bet he didn’t even gag. But that wasn’t for tonight. Tonight was about making this good for Connor. 

Hank shoved down his underwear before he could give it much thought, hissing as the cool air hit his overheated skin. He was insanely hard for how little they had actually done; he’d be embarrassed if Connor weren’t in the same boat. Connor was transfixed, crawling across the bed on hands and knees until he was close enough to touch. Hank sucked in a breath as Connor’s silky hand wrapped curiously around the girth of his cock. 

“Fuuuck,” Hank groaned, his eyes rolling back as Connor slowly pumped him, nimble fingers collecting the pre-come dripping freely down his shaft.

“You’re even bigger than I thought,” Connor mused, his voice sounding awed, and damn if that didn’t do amazing things for Hank’s ego. 

He chanced a look down at Connor and nearly came at the sight alone. That beautiful face was mere inches away from his straining dick, around which his long fingers were struggling to close. Connor watched the movement of his own hand, breath coming in short puffs; Connor’s neglected cock jerked and drooled a clear substance onto the bed. 

“Connor, you don’t stop and this’ll be over before it starts,” Hank said, gently extricating Connor’s hand from his dick; he followed the motion, pushing Connor backward and sliding between his parted thighs. 

Connor went willingly, his eyes shining with excitement as he hit the pillows, gazing up at Hank. He held out his arms and Hank gladly sank into them, finally skin on skin. They groaned in unison as Hank brought their erections together, sliding easily in the slick space between their bodies. Connor trembled, mouth falling open on a whine as Hank started rocking against him. He wound his arms around Hank’s back, bracketing Hank’s hips with his legs. 

Little breathless sounds escaped Connor’s mouth where he panted hotly against Hank’s ear. He started meeting Hank’s thrusts; sloppy at first and then finding a sinuous rhythm. Hank just knew the kid would be a natural.

“Look at you,” Hank breathed, leaning back enough to gaze at the mess of an android below him. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, Connor.” 

Connor moaned at the praise, cock throbbing visibly against his belly. “Please, Hank,” he pled softly. 

“Tell me what you want, baby. We’ll do anything you want.” Hank’s hands slid along Connor’s inner thighs because he couldn’t help himself; they were so temptingly soft and dotted with freckles. 

“I- I want you to fuck me, Hank.” Connor admitted softly, meeting Hank’s gaze under a veil of thick lashes. 

Hank’s heart made a valiant attempt to escape the confines of his chest. He took a silent moment to thank whatever cosmic force that decided to bless him with Connor. 

“Jesus, Con,” Hank said, “are you sure?”

Connor grabbed one of Hank’s hands from its place on his thigh and guided it beneath his balls. “Do I feel sure?” he asked, and pushed Hank’s fingers against the wet, twitching ring of muscle.

Hank let out a low groan, biting his lip as he tested the resistance. A nudge was all it took and Hank’s finger slipped inside to the first knuckle. Connor gasped and bowed his back, the narrow channel tightening around Hank’s digit. 

“You feel pretty damn sure,” Hank growled, aching with the need to feel all of that wet heat around his cock.

He pushed his finger in as far as it could go and tried a shallow thrust. Connor’s eyes snapped shut and his hands twisted into the bedsheets. He let his legs fall wide open, pleasure loosening his inhibitions. Hank drank in the sight of him as he pushed in another finger, stretching the synthetic skin as Connor whined, rocking his hips down impatiently. 

Hank huffed out a breathless laugh, twisting his fingers and searching for what he assumed would be there. His fingertips felt along Connor’s slick inner walls until he encountered a small bump of a slightly different texture. He stroked across it gently and Connor jerked his hips, crying out so loudly his voice box cracked. 

          “There it is,” Hank announced with satisfaction, pushing harder just to hear the exquisite sound that tore its way from Connor’s throat. “God, you’re perfect, Con. Soaking wet and writhing on my fingers like a goddamn dream.”

“Please, Hank,” Connor begged, “All this prep isn’t necessary; you won’t break me.” 

“Who cares if it’s necessary?” Hank asked, twisting his fingers to make Connor yelp. “I could do this all day.” It was a bluff, of course. If he didn’t get inside Connor soon, he was afraid his dick might actually fall off. 

Connor’s hand shot out and grabbed Hank’s wrist, stopping the movement. “Hank, I’m close.”

“Do androids have a refractory period?” Hank asked, thinking he knew the answer but wanting to hear Connor say it. 

“N-no we don’t. That’s one of the benefits of an android lover.”

Hank grinned wolfishly. “Good.”

He pulled his fingers free and grabbed the underside of Connor’s thighs, angling his ass up enough to get his mouth on it. Using his thumbs to keep him spread, Hank licked across Connor’s fluttering hole. The keening sound that escaped the android was far from human but it was music to Hank’s ears nonetheless. He pointed his tongue and pushed it in until his mouth was flush against Connor’s ass. 

“Hank, Hank, oh my god,” Connor moaned, voice high and straining with pops of static. 

Hank hummed in pleasure and started to suck, earning a shout and a fresh flood of lubricant. It was in his mouth and dripping down his beard now, slightly salty like saline but not at all unpleasant. Connor rocked against his face, threatening to suffocate him, but in Hank’s opinion, there would be no better way to die. 

A hand shot down and grabbed Hank’s hair, twisting tight as Connor gasped. “Hank, I’m gonna come.”

Hank doubled his efforts, pushing a thumb in alongside his tongue. The added stretch and Hank’s hum of approval was enough to push Connor over the edge. Connor’s body seized up entirely as he screamed, his hole pulling greedily at Hank’s tongue as another burst of fluid flooded his mouth. Hank pulled back and continued to finger Connor through his orgasm, watching his face- wet, pink mouth slack with ecstasy, his LED spinning on red. 

Connor’s cock throbbed out the last few spurts of artificial cum, all of it having ended up splattered on his chest and neck. He went lax when it was over, trembling as Hank gently lowered him back to the bed. Hank bent and kissed Connor’s parted lips; the android wrapped his arms around him, licking sloppily into Hank’s mouth to turn the kiss dirty and desperate.

“You were so good for me,” Hank praised, “Do you still want me to fuck you?” Hank figured he would probably just drop dead if Connor said no.

Connor’s legs tightened around him, pulling Hank down until his erection was slipping through the wet mess between Connor’s thighs. He shuddered and groaned, the head of his cock dragging briefly over Connor’s rim. He was going out of his mind. 

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll self-destruct,” Connor said, the threat punctuated with a sinful roll of his hips that Hank couldn’t refuse.

“Well, we don’t want that,” he said, pressing another brief kiss onto Connor’s lips. 

Hank gripped his shaft, hissing at the sudden contact; he couldn’t remember the last time he was this blindingly hard for anyone. They both watched as Hank guided the head of his cock to Connor’s hole and slowly pushed inside. Their groans sounded in unison, Connor’s head rolling back as Hank filled him completely. Hank gasped, his thighs shaking with the effort of not thrusting madly into the tight, wet perfection that was Connor’s glorious ass. 

Connor took him in to the hilt, artificial muscles twitching and tightening around Hank like a vice. He stared up at Hank in awe, like he was doing something magical, chest heaving with the effort of cooling his system. Hank leaned in and pressed their foreheads together as he he slowly, slowly pulled out, Connor’s body doing its damndest to keep him inside. When Hank thrust back in, Connor cried out, hands clawing at Hank’s back, desperate to get him closer. 

“Fuck,” Hank moaned, starting a slow, even pace that was frankly maddening. “Connor you feel so fucking good.”

Connor whined, hips jerking down to meet the next thrust, effectively nailing his prostate if the wail he let out was any indication. “Hank,” he panted, “Please, harder…” 

The fact that Hank could reduce a being as sophisticated and intelligent as Connor to speaking in sentence fragments, was more than a little gratifying and insanely hot. 

“You got it, honey,” Hank replied. 

Struck with a moment of inspiration, Hank grabbed Connor under the knees and pushed his legs up until he could hook Connor’s ankles over his shoulders. The new position drew Hank inside even deeper, Connor’s LED flashing red as if in warning of his impending orgasm. 

“Ha- AAH!” whatever he’d been about to say burst into a shout as Hank started pounding into him. 

Connor reached down and grabbed Hank’s thighs, feeling the muscles bunch and stretch with each thrust of his hips, his perfect nails carving crescents into the skin. Hank hoped they’d leave a mark he could admire later. The pain of it blended seamlessly into pleasure, adding to the white hot tension coiling in his gut. 

Little helpless sounds escaped Connor’s slack mouth and Hank swept in to catch them, revelling in the way Connor was starting to tremble apart beneath him. The exquisite pressure around him grew tighter and Hank knew the android was close. 

“Don’t hold back, Connor,” Hank growled, pressing up on his knees to slightly change the angle. 

“Oh-ohh! Oh my god, Hank, don’t stop, don’t stop, so close-”

His words cut off in a gasp. Hank watched as Connor’s eyes rolled back and closed, lashes fluttering and LED pulsing solid red. With a broken, staticky cry, Connor started to come, his insides clenching rhythmically with every contraction of his balls. Hank felt the wetness between them and knew he’d have Connor’s cum embedded in his chest hair.

Hank groaned when another flood of lubrication surrounded him, making his thrusts loose and sloppy; the lewd sound of it was almost too much to take. 

“Fuck, you’re wet,” Hank commented gruffly, earning a weak whimper from Connor. “Look so fuckin’ pretty like this, Con. All fucked out like that- shit,” A sudden wave of pleasure rolled over him, leaving him teetering on the edge. 

Tears were leaking from Connor’s eyes, his whole body quaking with overstimulation he didn’t know he could feel. Every sensor was overwhelmed, his processors practically offline from the constant barrage of sensation. 

The tears gave Hank pause, pulling him briefly back to his senses. “Shit, are you okay?” he panted, struggling not to move though his cock was straining. “You need to stop?”

Connor shook his head rapidly, choking out a glitching sob as he pushed himself down on Hank’s dick, beyond words for the way he was feeling. Hank took the hint and redoubled his efforts, bracing himself beside Connor’s head to fuck him as hard as possible. The edge was fast approaching again and Hank could feel it starting at the base of his spine, unfurling into something immense and powerful. 

Hank became aware that he was talking nonsense, mumbling praise between moans. “So good for me, Connor. So fuckin’ good. Gonna make me come.”

Connor’s heels dug into his shoulders in silent encouragement and that’s the thing that pitched Hank right over the edge. His vision whited out and he released some primal sound as he doubled over and came inside Connor’s perfect body, in seemingly endless spurts. Through the haze, he felt Connor seize and violently shake, crying out as he came a third time, tightening painfully around Hank’s oversensitive cock. But fuck if it wasn’t the most magnificent thing Hank had ever seen. 

Hank felt free to collapse on top of Connor, knowing his android frame was more than sturdy enough to bear his weight. He groaned as his cock slowly softened enough to slip out with a wet sound that made him shiver with aftershocks. It was then he realized that Connor had stopped making any kind of noise, which was unlike him. 

His heart nearly stopped when he looked up and found Connor with his eyes closed, LED glaring red. The saline tears were drying on his temples, his face completely peaceful and unresponsive. With a sick dread, Hank noted that Connor’s breathing had also ceased.  Hank sat up, letting Connor’s legs fall back to a resting position on his thighs. His body was utterly still. 

“Connor?” Hank tried, his voice sounding a tad hysterical.

He picked up one of Connor’s hands where it was lying limply on the bed and gave it a squeeze; Connor’s face remained impassive. 

Worry clawing up the back of his throat, Hank wondered if he should call Markus and ask him what the fuck was happening. That conversation was sure to be delightful. _ Hi Markus, quick question: what do I do if I accidentally fuck Connor unconscious? _

Just as he was contemplating grabbing his phone, Connor came back to life with a sharp intake of breath. His eyes were bright and focused, his LED back to a calm blue. Hank’s heart dislodged itself from his throat and he groaned in relief. Connor turned his attention on Hank, smiling softly, if a bit sheepishly. 

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, “I didn’t anticipate that.”

“Jesus, fuck.” Hank wiped a hand over his face, pushed back the hair that stuck to his sweat, “What the hell happened?”

“My system reached critical stress and had to perform a soft reboot.”

Hank winced. “That sounds like a bad thing.”

Connor’s hand reached for his and Hank noticed that it was just a little less coordinated than usual. He happily caught the slender fingers in his own as Connor looked up at him, brown eyes brimming with emotion. 

“No, Hank. It was the best feeling I’ve ever experienced. It felt so good I thought I was going to die...and I sort of did.” 

Hank huffed out a laugh, stroking Connor’s thumb with his own. “They call that the ‘little death’.”

“It’s apt,” Connor said, and fixed Hank with a deep, fathomless gaze. “Thank you, Hank. That was...incredible.”

Hank’s chest bloomed with warmth; he felt it suffusing every cell of his body until he was consumed with happiness. He’d forgotten he could feel this way, and it was all thanks to Connor. Beautiful Connor, loose limbed and sex-haired, looking up at him with a lopsided little grin. 

“Thank  _ you _ , Connor,” Hank whispered, lifting the android’s fingers to his lips to gently kiss. “Thank you for everything.” 

The forbidden words were clogging up the back of his throat, struggling to be free. But Hank would be damned if he confessed his love for the first time after sex; Connor might get the wrong idea and assume the two must go hand in hand. But Hank would love Connor even if they never touched again- he’d love Connor until the day he died.

He was so hopelessly fucked and he couldn’t be more content. 

 

The two of them showered together, revelling in soft kisses and intimate touches until the water started running cold. After towelling off, they didn’t even bother to dress before falling back into bed together. Hank hadn’t realized how much he missed sharing a bed with someone until he saw Connor’s head on the pillow beside his own. 

He reached out a hand and stroked Connor’s cheek. Connor smiled softly and nuzzled into his palm. Then he slid closer, turning and insinuating himself in Hank’s arms, his lean back to Hank’s front. 

Hank chuckled and dragged him in closer, kissing the side of his neck. “Who’d have figured the big, bad android detective is a cuddler.”

Connor hummed and held Hank’s arms around him, fingers absently stroking. 

Hank could feel the vibration of Connor’s heart through his chassis, as well as feel the simulated breathing that pressed them closer together with every inhale. Hank was almost asleep when Connor spoke again. 

“Hank?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy New Year.” 

Hank pressed his face into Connor’s shoulder, smiling against his skin. For once, the coming of a new year meant more than dread; more than just another year without Cole, another year at the bottom of a bottle. Hank felt a warm, lifting  sensation in his chest that he recognized as hope. He held the wonderful man in his arms a little tighter.

“Happy New Year, Connor.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Artwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that's right, I'm makin art of my own fic. If I don't, who will?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who's stuck by despite all of my cock-teasing. I hope this makes up for it <3


End file.
